The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 426: The young lion in the capital

Jolthar descended to the main hall to find an unpleasant scene unfolding. Lord Justiciar Halvren stood there in his official robes, flanked by a squad of imperial guards. And beside him was a man Jolthar recognized with immediate distaste.

Alden Veyra.

He was perhaps forty, with a face that nature had made cruel and experience had made crueler. He wore the uniform of an imperial magistrate’s enforcer—someone who carried out arrests and investigations on behalf of the justice ministry. But more than his official capacity, Jolthar remembered him from Tekkora.

It seemed like he was prompted.

Veyra had come to the barony months ago on some minor administrative matter, and he had been insufferably rude to everyone—treating Cleora with condescension, dismissing Maena’s authority, and speaking to the common people like they were insects. Jolthar had barely restrained himself from throwing the man out physically.

Now here he was again, wearing an expression of smug satisfaction.

Milan stood facing them, his posture rigid with barely contained anger.

”Justiciar, I’ve told you—Baron Kaezhlar is my guest and under my protection. You cannot simply march into my home and demand his arrest.”

”I have the authority of the Ministry of Justice and the order from the Prime minister himself,” Halvren replied, though he looked uncomfortable.

”New charges have been filed. Baron Kaezhlar must come with us for questioning.”

”What are these new charges again?” Jolthar asked, entering the hall.

”You stand accused of grave offenses against the imperial family — the assault of an imperial princess, defiance of arrest, and the unlawful abandonment of these proceedings.”

”Disruption of public order, assault on temple officials, blasphemy against recognized deities, and—” Halvren consulted a document ”—multiple counts of refusing lawful commands from imperial representatives.”

”That’s absurd,” Milan said flatly.

”The temple incident was resolved. The Chief Priest himself—”

”The Chief Priest is not the final authority on legal matters,” Alden Veyra interrupted, stepping forward with clear pleasure.

”That would be us. And we’ve determined that Baron Kaezhlar’s behavior constitutes a pattern of criminality that cannot be tolerated.”

He moved closer to Jolthar, looking him up and down with obvious disdain.

”You think you’re special because you’ve won a few fights? Because people like Prince Milan coddle you? You’re nothing but a jumped-up commoner who got lucky with a sword.”

”Veyra,” Halvren said warningly, clearly sensing the escalation.

But Veyra ignored him, emboldened by the guards at his back and his official authority.

”I remember you from Tekkora. Acting like you owned the place, putting on airs with that woman old enough to be your mother. You should have bowed and scraped when I visited, showing proper respect to an imperial official.”

”I remember you too,” Jolthar said quietly, his voice dangerously calm.

”You were rude to Cleora. You dismissed Maena. You treated good people with contempt because you had a fancy title and thought it made you important.”

”I am important,” Veyra sneered.

”More important than you’ll ever be. And now I get to arrest you, drag you to the Ministry in chains, and watch you finally learn some humility.”

”Alden, enough,” Halvren said more forcefully.

”This isn’t—”

”Come along quietly,” Veyra continued, reaching for Jolthar’s arm.

”Or we’ll do this the hard way. Either way works for me.”

Milan started to move forward. ”You will not—”

What happened next occurred too fast for most people to fully process.

Jolthar’s hand shot out, not to push Veyra away, but to grab the hilt of the sword at the man’s hip. In one fluid motion, he drew Veyra’s own blade from its scabbard.

Veyra’s smug expression shifted to confusion as he saw the Jolthar’s movements.

”What are you—”

The sword moved in a perfect horizontal arc.

The blade passed through Veyra’s neck with minimal resistance, cutting through flesh and bone with the kind of precision that came from years of sword mastery and absolutely no hesitation.

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen.

Veyra stood there, his expression frozen in confused surprise.

Then his head slid sideways and toppled from his shoulders. His body followed a second later, collapsing to the floor as blood fountained from the severed neck, spreading across Milan’s pristine marble floor in a rapidly expanding pool.

Absolute silence filled the hall.

Everyone stared in shock—the guards frozen mid-reaction, Halvren’s mouth hanging open, Milan’s eyes wide with disbelief, and the servants who had witnessed it standing paralyzed.

Jolthar stood there holding Veyra’s sword, now slick with its owner’s blood. His expression was completely calm, almost serene, as if he’d just performed some routine task rather than executing an imperial official in the middle of a prince’s home.

”You...” Halvren finally found his voice, though it came out as a strangled whisper.

”You just... you murdered an imperial magistrate enforcer! In front of witnesses! You’re a barbarian! A criminal! This is—this is beyond anything—crimes after crimes!”

He was nearly incoherent with rage and shock, his careful bureaucratic composure shattered by the sheer audacity of what he’d just witnessed.

He was shaking, not with anger but with fear. He moved a couple of steps back as he was completely shocked by what Jolthar had done.

”He was rude,” Jolthar said simply, dropping the bloody sword. It clattered against the marble beside Veyra’s corpse.

”To me, to people I care about, and just now, I don’t tolerate that from anyone, regardless of their title.”

”You can’t just kill people for being rude!” Halvren shouted.

”Apparently I can,” Jolthar replied with cold logic.

”I just did.”

Milan had recovered enough to speak, though his voice was strained.

”Jolthar, what have you done? This isn’t like fighting assassins or dueling temple knights. You’ve killed an imperial official executing his lawful duties.”

”Lawful?” Jolthar turned to look at Milan.

”He came here to arrest me on fabricated charges, using his authority as a weapon for Minister Richardus’s political games. That’s not law. That’s tyranny with official paperwork.”

”That’s still not justification for execution!” Halvren insisted, his voice rising.

”You’re a criminal! You’ve committed murder after murder, defied the empire, attacked its representatives—”

”Then arrest me,” Jolthar interrupted calmly.

”If you think you can. If you think those guards—” he gestured to the imperial soldiers who were still standing frozen, clearly uncertain whether to attack or flee ”—are willing to try taking me by force.”

The guards looked at each other nervously.

They had heard the stories about him defeating the Princess and they saw him kill Alden in just a few seconds. He didn’t even hesitate.

This man was dangerous beyond anything they were trained to handle.

None of them moved to draw weapons.

”You see,” Jolthar said to Halvren.

”Your authority only extends as far as people’s willingness to enforce it. And right now, nobody here wants to be the next corpse on the floor.”

Halvren was trembling with rage and fear.

Jolthar’s voice was absolutely steady, without a trace of doubt or regret. ”I will not bow to corrupt officials. I will not submit to unjust authority. And I will not tolerate being harassed, threatened, or insulted by people who think their titles make them untouchable.”

He looked directly at Halvren, and the Lord Justiciar actually took a step back from the intensity in his eyes.

”This is who I am,” Jolthar continued.

”This is who I’ll always be. You can try to arrest me, try to kill me, try to destroy everything I’ve built. But I won’t change. I won’t compromise. And I won’t pretend to respect an empire that uses justice as a weapon and protects monsters while prosecuting those who stop them.”

Milan closed his eyes briefly, clearly processing the implications of what had just happened and what Jolthar had just declared.